


The Shadows Sewn to their Feet

by TheSecondCircle



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Dark, M/M, Medical Procedures, Multi, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:22:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23379061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSecondCircle/pseuds/TheSecondCircle
Summary: Accepted back into the family to work side by side, Jason's been spending more of his time in and around the manor and cave. On the surface, everything seems fine, but things aren't quite the way Jason remembers them to be.
Comments: 31
Kudos: 142





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scandalsavage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scandalsavage/gifts).



> Truly the only one to blame for this ~~other than myself~~ is [scandalsavage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scandalsavage/pseuds/scandalsavage) lol  
> The idea came as I was trying to figure out the heights of the batboys at different ages and looking up past stats, scandal encouraged me to actually write something about it, so I did. This is that idea come to life.

It was odd, when he noticed it for the first time. Hadn't meant to be staring or anything like that, but it's hard not to look at the bare leg you're currently wrapping in gauze. They all have scars, sure, it's a big part of the job. Getting hurt. But these ones... _these_ ones, they just look so precise. Intentional. _Surgical._

Jason moves his hand up along Tim's calf like he's checking for more bruises or cuts or broken bones. Fingers stopping across a set of small scars on either side of the younger Robin's leg, just below his knee. His brows furrow in confusion right until that leg is swiftly dropped straight out of view. Tim has a smile on his face when he looks up at him, sitting on the cold medical table in the cave with both legs now dangling off the side.

"All done?"

Jason can't disagree.

"Yeah..." He shakes his head, fucking paranoia, always letting it get the best of him. Can only hope to force a smile in return that's at least half convincing, "Yeah, all stitched up and bandaged good. Just don't forget to take some penicillin - top drawer on the right. Deep wound like that's prone to infection no matter what I do to stop it."

"Can't keep those fuckers from growing." Jason snorts, and backs up from the table to give Tim some room. Scrubs his hands clean with the dirty rag to the side. Crusted blood under his nails will take a little more digging to get out.

At least Tim laughs at his joke, "It's what they're born to do, isn't it?"

Jason can't disagree with that either.

____________

In the following weeks, Jason forgets about what he’d seen before. Well… Pushes it to the back of his mind and pretends that nothing had been there to begin with. It’s easier that way. Stops him from questioning the matter even more than he needs to. He’s down in the cave again, with Dick this time. Sparring and wrestling each other for practice. Grayson might be quick but Jason’s got more muscle on him, he’s stronger.

But fuck his luck, doesn’t take too long before Dick’s got him pinned for the fifth time that evening, breaking the tie. He should’ve seen it coming easily, it’s the same move Dick pulled on him the first time he got him down. Pinned from behind with legs wrapped around his middle, head in a chokehold. It takes him longer than it should to hit the mat to break things off. Isn’t struggling near hard enough to break free on his own.

His eyes are caught on the sliver of skin he can see of Dick’s ankles, exercise tights pushed up and socks shimmied down from all the movement. There are marks there. Marks like the ones he saw on Tim. Both ankles the same. Jason’s not quite sure it’s the chokehold making him feel light-headed.

It’s a shame he waits too long to tap out. Dick’s voice drowns out in the background as his eyes go black. The image of little white scars all lined up in a row burned on his retinas. When he comes to it’s easy enough to call it a trick of the light. Dick’s sitting up, hitting his cheek lightly to get him to open his eyes, a confused look on that perfect face.

“You okay, Jason?” A half smile turns his mouth up, “Got me worried for a second there. Why didn’t you just tap out, I would’ve let you up?”

Jason’s eyes track back and forth on Dick’s face, the bright glisten of sweat on his skin, the flush of his cheeks. His eyes aren’t playing tricks on him now. Sweat doesn’t look the same as a scar.

“Fine.” He swallows the lump niggling his throat, and huffs out a breath with a grin, “Just didn’t want to let you win again, tap outs are for wimps.”

Dick shakes his head and laughs, getting up on his feet and reaching a hand out to help Jason up too, “Yeah, yeah. And we all know you’re no wimp, Jay.”

Jason just bats Dick’s hand away to stand on his own. He puffs his chest out and stands up taller just for the machismo of it. Even if he’s only got two inches on Dick, it’s still fun to poke fun.

Reaches out and ruffles a hand through Dick’s hair, “Can’t have a squirt like you taking me down, now can I?” He snickers.

It’s expected that Dick balks, pushing back and straightening his hair. He shoves at Jason’s chest a little harder than just jest would require. “Still older than you-”

“By _three_ years,” Jason interjects.

Dick raises a brow and huffs, “Still puts me above you in the pecking order.” He looks Jason up and down, a flicker of _something_ behind those bright blue eyes, “…even if you are taller now.”

It catches Jason off guard when Dick swipes a leg out to bring him down to the floor, _again_. Below him.

He only catches a side view of the smirk as Dick walks past.

“A place for everything and everything in its place; don’t you think? That’s what Bruce always says.”

“And when has he ever been wrong.” Jason grumbles, but he gets back on his feet without further complaint, and follows Dick inside.

____________

It's not healthy. He knows it's not. But even with the knowledge in hand, Jason still finds himself back down in that cave, seated at the batcomputer this time.

Really, he had come to look up information on a new case he was working. The Dollmaker back in town, allegedly. Had no leads to prove the crimes were his doing yet, other than the typical MO. Should just be thankful Bruce has let him under the fold enough to have access to this now.

His fingers twitch on the keys as he looks at the faces of past victims. Bodies cut up and sewn back together to fit a new mold, the lines that seal them jagged. It's a hack job compared to what a real doctor could do. Or at least, a medically trained personnel. Even Jason can stitch an open wound better than that.

He clicks out of the screen.

Eyes wandering to the folder of the family. The mouse follows after.

It opens with two clicks, bright white display of their names and faces all lined up. Hurts to look at it with how intense the monitor illuminates the dark room. He taps on Dick's face first.

Scrolling down through various lists of medical procedures and injuries Dick has acquired, Jason doesn't find what he's looking for. Nothing that would create the marks he saw, _he knows he saw them_. It's more by accident than anything that he finds a small grain of something- _odd_.

The numbers. For every year and medical record there's always the same two numbers written. Dick's height and weight. Jason flips through the pages a few more times, hunched over the keyboard and staring with apt confusion. It doesn't… It doesn't add up.

He closes out of the screen again, going back to the collection of their faces and clicking on Tim. Skips trying to read through and interpret all the jargon written there. Only two things on his mind that any layman could understand. And there it is again.

His hands push at the desk and he stands up like backing away will clear things up. Make the numbers change to something that makes sense. But Dick's page was the same.

Jason nearly trips over his own feet as he scrambles to go back yet again and open the link of another familiar face. His own. Jason Peter Todd. Of course, here there a few years blank, where no information could be given. As soon as it skips to 18 and onward though his numbers track the way they should. Stagnant.

His weight fluctuates a little, here and there, but the height- _the height_ stays the same.

Dick and Tim, theirs do not. They go down.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason can't sleep, but maybe Bruce will have the answers to put his worries to rest.

It’s hard to sleep that night, after looking through the files in the cave. Eyes stuck staring at the blank ceiling as he lies on his back. Like he can read the documents over again by memory alone. He keeps telling himself he’s being irrational, that it's just the Dollmaker getting to his head. It’s a mistake, an error in the recording. _Bruce doesn’t make mistakes._

Well, all except one.

Jason turns on his side, looking at the curtains as they shift with the night breeze, silver lines of moonlight illuminating their edges like fragile wings. It’s a full moon tonight, his one night off from patrol a week. Alfred had insisted on it. That it was good for his mental health. Jason’s starting to doubt that right about now.

Rolling back over, he wriggles his way out of the sheets. Pushing the covers back and letting his feet touch the cold floor, moves them up and down like there are keys on the floor only he can see, a tune no one can hear. A steady thrum of intrusive thoughts clogging his mind with nonsense. Jason pushes off the bed and heads out.

He’s down in the kitchen, grabbing a glass of milk, when his eyes catch on a passing shadow through the back window. It’d be easy to say it’s just a bat, easier still to know it’s a man. Jason makes his way to the cave, sets the clock just right in Bruce’s office and the passageway opens up for him to descend into the blinding darkness. His eyes always did take a while to adjust.

Of course, Bruce sees him first.

White lenses peering up at him from the cave floor, spears rising up out of the rock around him like landmines. Funny how Jason’s never been afraid of the Bat until now. Nervous. That’s a better word for it, just _nervous._

“Jason?”

Right. He came down here to talk, didn’t he? Something like that at least. A way to clear his head so he can finally get some goddamn sleep and put this thing to rest. Bruce is pushing the cowl back, looking at him inquisitively before Jason’s even got a word out of his mouth.

He smiles like it will cover his raw nerves - _something’s gotta soothe it_. His hands pick mindlessly at his fingernails. “Hey Bruce. I uh- Just saw you coming in, so I figured I’d say hello.” He thumbs back up towards the manor, “Out the kitchen window. Was just grabbing a drink, I couldn’t sleep.”

Bruce smiles genuinely and nods his head as he makes his way to the suit’s case. Knocks his knuckles against the glass with a soft rasp, as if Jason needed sound to bring his attention to it. Like he can’t already not look away as it is. “Always did have trouble sleeping, even back when you were just a boy.”

There’s a hint of sadness there, reminiscing on the past. At least now it’s tinged with the calming reminder that what was once lost is now found. Jason’s eyes dart away and his smile turns to more sneer than anything else.

“Yeah. Always have.”

He can hear it when Bruce starts taking off his gloves, the tight leather sticking by sweat to the skin of his hands as they’re pulled off. It’s familiar, just like that gravelly voice.

“Why don’t you come down here for a second? You can help me clean off the bike. You always did like working on it.” Still smiling too, isn’t he? Jason could always hear it when he spoke. Even the invisible ones.

“Sure, Bruce.” Idiot.

His feet carry him down the rest of the stairs before his mind can refute. Bruce has the cape and cowl off by the time he gets there, perfected the best way to take things off after so many nights out.

_Maybe it was just a mistake._

The _scars_ weren’t.

Jason clears his throat. “Surprised you didn’t take the car, that’s usually you’re go to on patrols.”

Bruce shrugs and walks over to the bike with him, “I have both for a reason. Sometimes I like something smaller to take around the city, not so bulky.” He tosses Jason a rag and smiles, “It takes turns faster during a chase.”

Exactly what Jason was thinking too. Definitely.

He almost drops the rag when it’s tossed to him; he needs to clear his mind.

Jason waits for Bruce to start spraying the bike down with a hose first, get the bigger chunks of dirt off it, the easy stuff, before taking a knee next to it. It’s just like cleaning his own bike really, scrubbing at the mud that’s dried up and crusted on the underbelly. Honestly, it’s the only thing he’s done that’s helped him relax all night. Doesn’t even notice it when Bruce joins in on the opposite side, too lost in the mindless chore.

“So,” _Dammit,_ why couldn’t Bruce just keep his mouth shut? Enjoy the silence like he is? “What’s been bothering you tonight?”

There are soft blue eyes staring back at Jason through the spokes when he looks up. He looks down again.

Shrugs. “Nothing new, really…” _Fuck it._ “It’s just-“ Jason leans back and sighs, eyes glancing over at the batcomputer, before he shakes his head, “I don’t know, I found some files on the computer that didn’t make sense. Probably just an error in the system or something.”

Bruce hasn’t stopped looking at him. “What files?”

Again, Jason shrugs. His hands are busy back on the bike, using his fingernails to etch away at a bit of dirt that just doesn’t want to get off. “Just some medical files you have on us.”

“Tim and Dick specifically.”

It’s Bruce’s turn to lean back now, one brow quirked curiously. “And what seemed to be the problem? Everything should be in order.”

Jason scratches at the bit of dirt harder, dirt caking under his nails. It’s simple, it’s such a simple small thing to take issue with, “ _Their height._ One year it says Dick’s 6 foot, the next he’s 5’10”. Tim’s 5’9” then 5’6”. Different years too, when they change.”

A sharp bit of gravel wedges under his nail when he picks at it too hard, blood welling up in an instant. He pushes down on his finger to stop the bleeding, “Just thought it was weird, that’s all.”

Of all the things that Jason expected, _laughing_ wasn’t one of them, but laugh Bruce does. Hard too, full blown belly laughs at the errors Jason’s found. Jason can’t help but look back up at him to try and see what’s so fucking funny. He narrows his eyes when Bruce doesn’t stop.

“What? Why are you laughing? I thought you’d be mad someone altered the records or something?”

Bruce just shakes his head, wipes a fucking _tear_ from his eye. “No, no no no. Not mad at all Jason.” A few more chuckles come out before he can fully get control of his emotions again. His eyes meet Jason’s with a sparkle of humor…. he thinks. “I let the boys fill out their own charts as they got older, it’s good practice to know how to take good recordings. I hadn’t let you before… well, before you came back now.”

There’s a softer expression on Bruce’s face, what he can see of it at least. Jason’s brows are still furrowed in confoundment.

“My guess is they wrote those heights in themselves, to make it appear they were taller than they actually were.” Bruce cocks his head back in thought, “I suppose once they got past those self-conscious years of adolescence, they went back to recording it properly.”

It fits. The explanation. Jason just needs to accept the truth for what it is and get over himself. It’s clear Bruce can see he’s struggling to.

“Ridiculous, I know,” Bruce smiles, Jason doesn’t, “But I can remember when I was that age too. I’d tell anyone who’d believe me I was at least 5 inches taller than I actually was.” He laughs with mirth.

Yeah, Jason cracks a grin, forcing himself to relax and stop being so damn tense. Just funny.

He shakes his head and blinks away the pictures of little white scars, uniform in position, that stain his memories.

“Sorry, I guess- I was just worried for no reason.” The bleeding from his nail has stopped, dirt stuck to the blood and drying it out. Doesn’t notice Bruce has walked around from the other side until there’s a warm hand on his shoulder. Firm, comforting weight.

“Don’t be sorry, Jay,” Jason stares at that hand, calloused and scarred, from the corner of his eye, “I’m glad you told me. It’s good to make sure everything’s in its place correctly.”

“Yeah,” Jason mumbles, “Dick told me something like that too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS (I'm just as surprised as anyone else that I got a new chapter up this quick lol)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Distraction is always the best medicine. That's what Jason has taught himself at least. He hopes it's true.

The days following his talk with Bruce, down in the cave that night, Jason keeps mostly to himself. Cooks dinner with Alfred and talks classic books, old romance novels that he has yet to find a better substitute of reading for. Something about them, the pull and push of two people who clearly wish to be close, the drama surrounding their family relations and positions in society that keep them apart. He tries not to think too hard about why he might like a story like that, that always has a happy ending regardless. Better to just fall into the easy feeling of pleasure it brings him. Alfred seems to understand.

Then again, there are a lot of things he tries not to think about these days. The person walking into the room behind him just happens to be one.

“Jason-“

Jason tsks and keeps pounding the dough without turning to look at who it is, “Gonna have to wait til it’s cooked to try a piece.”

Bruce huffs out a sigh that sounds a little more exasperated than absolutely necessary. _What? All he’s gotta do is wait another 20 to 30 minutes, jeez._ Apparently, Bruce doesn’t take the hint, since he keeps talking, “As much as I love your cooking, Jay, I came over for a different reason.” …or that.

Now Jason turns to look at him, brow quirked but hands still moving, “Yeah, what about? I’m kinda busy right now.” He raises a sticky hand – _the dough needs more flour –_ to show Bruce, “As you can see.”

“I can see that quite clearly, Jay.” Bruce smiles, the slightest tick up at the side of his mouth, a tell that he’s found something humorous, endearing.

Even with all Bruce’s day work and night work combined, he rarely shows the weariness you’d expect. Always looks so put together in a way Jason could never hope to achieve. Just envy for. But sometimes, like now, you can see it in the color of his eyes, dulled from their clear ocean blues to a murky gray. More fitting of a summer storm.

Maybe Jason’s not the only one losing sleep.

“I just wanted to ask if you’d like to join me for a mission tonight.”

“Oh?” Jason turns back to the dough, sprinkling flour down on the smooth marble counter and kneading it with suddenly tense hands. It makes his nose tickle, the fine powder that stays held in the air, unable to land. “Don’t trust me going out on my own anymore? I haven’t shot anybody.” _Well…_ “With live bullets at least, just rubber. You said that was okay.” His eyes shift to look at Bruce just over his shoulder, red strap of his apron a stain against his white shirt in the periphery, “That is okay, isn’t it? I’m not giving up my guns just so I can stay here.”

“No, you don’t have to give up your guns, Jason.” Bruce purses his lips slightly, “You know I don’t like them, but as long as it’s not lethal force you’re using, I’m okay with it.”

Jason snorts.

“I’ll _tolerate_ it.” Bruce corrects, much to Jason’s continued amusement, “If you’d rather go on patrol by yourself tonight, that’s fine. You do well on your own. But, if you’d like to, there’s a weapons trade happening down by Gotham harbor that I could use some help on.”

When Jason doesn’t answer immediately, two short words are added on that shouldn’t feel as loaded as they are, “ _Your_ help.”

 _Bullshit._ “What, Dickie and Timbo busy tonight? Why don’t you ask Damian, I’m sure he’d be more than happy to help out.” Which, he wouldn’t be surprised if the little one tagged along behind them anyway, even without invite. Wouldn’t be the first time according to Dick.

“Dick and Tim will be out on their own patrols, yes.” _Knew it._ “They had offered to join me before I turned them down, I figured I’d extend the offer to you instead. We haven’t had the chance to do a mission together in a long time. I thought, perhaps… you might enjoy that.”

Jason’s hands still in their movements. Half a second. Maybe less. Long enough for Bruce to pick up on it that’s for sure. He starts kneading again, not that the dough needs it. “That so.”

“It is.” Bruce replies, steady smooth voice, as easy to calm as it is to scare, “I know it’s short notice-“

Jason waves him off without looking behind, “It’s fine, things come up like that, I get it.” His fingers twitch when they touch back on the dough, like he’s forgotten what to do with them. What the next step in the recipe is to make it complete.

“I’ll meet you in the cave later tonight, we can head out from there.”

 _Smiling, isn’t he?_ “Thank you, Jay.” _Definitely._

“No need to thank me, Bruce. It’s what you raised me to do, isn’t it?” Jason huffs.

Bruce hums a pleased note in reply, and turns to walk away, “I suppose you’re right.”

At least now Jason can make his bread in peace.

____________

The freezing wind biting at the bit of skin he has exposed is making Jason shiver. Hairs on his arms stood upright, goosebumps dotting alongside underneath. It’s a shame it’s also a sign of fear. Though perhaps, for tonight at least, that’s a benefit. He looks over at Bruce with a shift of his eyes, helmet belying his change of focus. Just another reason to choose a helmet over a mask, in Jason’s opinion. That, and the lack of expression given away.

They’ve been waiting for the gang factions to arrive, seconds ticking away into minutes, minutes to hours. The cold metal of the holding tanks below them warming gradually with their lingering presence. Almost makes you forget that what you’re touching is foreign, a separation from yourself. At this rate Jason’s sure he’ll become a gargoyle before their targets become reality. Lord knows Bruce already has.

Stock-still, nothing moving aside from his cape which blows in gusts with the wind. Like a bat midflight, hovering on the spot. Watching, waiting. _Patient._ For its prey. There’s not much else Bruce _is_ patient for. Not before and certainly not now. At a certain point, the years just reverse their course of growing that aspect of your character. Well, for most, at least. Alfred is ever the exception to any rule he could try to make.

Tired of the silence, Jason speaks up, “B-“

“ _Shh_.”

Jason purses his lips. Turns back to the spot where their targets are supposed to arrive and zooms in with his helmet to the alleys and streets that adjoin it. Trash and litter toss around in the air, skittering across cracked asphalt and chunks of turned up road. A rat peeks out from a hole in a wall, nose twitching, ears perked. Nothing. Not even a sound of people nearby other than the constant buzz of traffic that is Gotham city. A city that never sleeps.

He zooms back out with a tired sigh.

“B, there’s nothing.” … “B?” There’s no one next to him now either.

_“Shit.” Where’d Bruce fly off to now?_

Doing a 360 around him, Jason still sees no sign of Bruce, hears no sound of him. Just, vanished. Like he fucking always does. Jason looks back at the alleged site for the weapons trade, does his checks on the corners and alleys one more time, before jumping down to the rooftop below him to search. Doubtful Bruce will respond over the coms when he couldn’t be bothered to first.

The rooftop – and those surrounding it – is empty, the stairwells going down either side of the building seemingly so too. Still, Jason jumps down on to one, flipping off the top and hopping his way down, catching the slick metal railings to pace his descent until he hits the ground with soft feet. There’s a maze of shipping crates further into the harbor he can’t fully see behind, but it’s somewhere Bruce might be, and a likely place for the trade to have moved as well.

Jason might have good gear, but Bruce is always outdoing him.

More than likely, the cowl has x-ray visual components built in it to see through the crates. If he’s to believe Bruce caught sight of the targets before he did, and simply figured Jason would follow his lead, not need instruction to know where to go or what to do. The where, right now, being far more important.

Jason scowls as he trudges forward, guns in hand and safeties clicked off. It’s just like Bruce to make stupid assumptions like that, a great way to reason to himself for the patronizing, overdetailed orders he’ll be sure to make later. Sorry, Bruce, but he can’t read your mind all the time.

Despite how much he tries.

The giant shipping crates tower over Jason in a rainbow of dulled and chipped away paint as he makes his way through, listening closely to any noise or give away to Bruce’s location, gaze flicking back and forth all around him. Bright street lights perch overhead illuminating the area in an uneasy glow, more than likely meant to discourage looters. Like that’ll actually work. Gothamites have no shame in robbing during daylight, what makes the harbor think this is any different? Darkness usually worked against most people when it came to the Bat anyway. Jason keeps looking.

Round and round sharp bends, down long stretches of endless lines of colorful building blocks stacked up against him, dead-end after dead-end leading to nowhere and no one. Just a constant looping path stuck with constant looping thoughts he’d rather just forget. Of course, that’s when he hears them. Gruff, angry voices, hushed despite their remote location. Wherever they are.

Jason’s back presses up against the crate where the sound is loudest. Five, maybe six? No, _eight_ , at the very least. Making jokes and talking cash. He double-checks his magazines are loaded and starts his slow approach.

And then, everything goes black. And _pain_ alights his mind.


End file.
